Free Flirting With Danger by Suzanne Enoch Page B

make certain they’re comfortable here.”
    “Not defensive at all about that failed marriage thing, are you?”
    He was beginning to get the feeling that she didn’t miss anything. Well, he was fairly observant, himself. She followed him down the hall to the suite at the far end. Unable to help a small smirk, he pushed open the door. “Here you are.”
    As Sam brushed past him, he leaned in to smell her auburn hair. Raspberries. Very nice. And surprisingly hot.
    Halfway into the room, Samantha stopped, and he watched as she took in her surroundings. Off to her right the gleam of tile and mirrors would give hints of a huge bathroom, while open double doors on the left revealed an oversize bed draped in cool green and gray. A small balcony stood outside the wood and glass doors straight ahead, with a set of curving red stone steps leading down from it to the grotto pool. In the central sitting room, green overstuffed furniture in the English Georgian style invited her to sit in front of the fireplace or watch the plasma television set into the wall above it.
    “This would be the green room?” she asked after a lengthy silence.
    He grinned. “Actually yes, it would be. Do you like it?”
    She nodded, a genuine smile on her lips. “It’s nice.”
    “Why don’t you find something to wear suitable for a barbecue, and I’ll be back for you in a few minutes,” he said, pleased that the room pleased her.
    “Are you going to lock the door?”
    “Would that stop you?”
    Her lips twitched. “No.”
    “Then I won’t bother.”
    “I’ll change, then, if you take that off.” She tweaked his tie. “It makes me nervous.”
    “I doubt anything makes you nervous,” he returned, the quick touch of her fingers against his chest stirring him farther down. Yes, he’d bloody well figure her out. And soon. “Don’t go anywhere.”
    “And don’t take anything. I know.”
    He tossed the room’s key onto the coffee table, figuring she would feel more secure with it in her possession. The master key remained in his pocket. With a slight smile he headed down to the opposite end of the hall toward his office.
    This was certainly more interesting than purchasing a failing cable television station, as he’d been scheduled to do this week. Damn . He would have to push back some meetings—if he had been the bomb’s target, he didn’t want to put anyone else in danger. And he wanted to concentrate on Samantha—and their agreement.

Seven
    Friday, 6:18 p.m.
    Samantha had observed enough powerful, ego-driven businessmen to know that this was all something of a game for Richard Addison—especially where it involved her. She could play to that, if she needed to. But all she really cared about at the moment was getting the police focused away from her, and away from Stoney, so they could escape Florida for a while and so she could avoid being hunted down for murder.
    Stoney. She desperately wanted to call him, to find out if the police were doing more than tapping his phone. Whether they’d had assistance or not, they’d found him within two days. But Walter Barstone had worked on the shady side of legal, as he put it, for thirty years. He hadn’t done that, and made quite the living at it, by being careless. Which meant that somebody was talking.
    Lips pursed, she looked at the phone sitting on the bed stand. It would certainly confuse matters if they traced a call to Stoney back to Addison’s estate. As her illustrious hosthad said, though, at the moment she was safe. She wouldn’t risk it. Not yet, anyway.
    She found the walk-in closet in the huge bedroom and dug in. Wearing a dress and heels was something she did with regularity, usually when she had the opportunity to case a house or other establishment. Nice things were usually kept in nice places, and she needed to blend. Skirts and pumps hampered her movements, though, when she was actually working. And even if she wasn’t stealing anything tangible tonight, she was